


The Infinity Painting

by waywardaquarius



Category: Bridgerton (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bridgerton (TV) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Angel Sex, Angel Wings, Angelic Grace (Supernatural), Artistic Castiel (Supernatural), Artistic Dean Winchester, Bridgerton/Supernatural Crossover, Canon Gay Relationship, Castiel's Angelic Grace (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Curse Breaking, Demons, Family Secrets, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Forbidden Love, Heartache, Inspired by Bridgerton (TV), Keep it out of the society papers, London, Lots of stuff with grace in ch 6, Lust, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Nephilim, Oral Sex, POV Dean Winchester, References to Drugs, Regency Romance, Sexual Tension, Sexuality Crisis, Sharing of Angelic Grace (Supernatural), drawing and painting maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:46:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28621275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardaquarius/pseuds/waywardaquarius
Summary: Dean discovered upon closer observation that the tan coated stranger was quite beautiful. His dark hair was disheveled, his shoulders broad, and his eyes a shocking blue.Like the sky, Dean thought.Fuck...what?No. He had not just been admiring the physical stature of a strange man. He had not. He tried to scrub the observations from his mind, but he couldn't. Especially as he watched the tan overcoat join his green one on the floor, and watched this stunning creature roll up his shirtsleeves and stand next to him playfully, hands on his hips, staring thoughtfully at the infinity painting.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 15
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i feel this  
> gravitational pull  
> towards you,  
> like the universe  
> and all the galaxies  
> had a talk and said,  
> "yeah, it's time"  
> 

The first time that Dean Winchester ever saw Castiel was at a gallery opening on Bath street in London. 

He had expected it to be another day of exhaustive conversation and too much sherry with other members of the social elite, and had almost decided to skip the event entirely were it not for the insistence from his younger brother that he go along. Dean could never say no to Sam, who was courting a young lady that was sure to be in attendance. Sam never liked to go to these kinds of soirees alone, and so Dean indulged him with minimal complaint. It was true that if there were a type of event that he enjoyed the most, it was those where he could enjoy art and take mental notes to help in his own artistic development; sketching was a secret hobby that he enjoyed. He found it to be a way to escape from the day to day frivolities and exhaustive expectations of life as a wealthy Winchester.

Dean was the eldest, and it was expected that this would be the year that he found himself a wife so that he could produce an heir and continue the Winchester bloodline. But the idea of it set his mind in a state of panic. He had always enjoyed bedding a variety of beautiful women, but had yet to feel that he had found true love. Not that he even believed such a thing existed, but he continued to hold out hope that one day he would suddenly make eye contact with a beautiful girl as he walked down the street, and just know that she was “the one.” But it hadn't happened yet and the clock was ticking. When he slept at night, which was never well and almost always full of disturbing dreams and violent nightmares, he often imagined that he could hear the gears in the clocks outside of his room grinding extra loudly, just to taunt him.

But once at the party on this particular day, he found himself alone in one of the galleries with a glass of sherry, mulling over the various paintings in the large, heavily perfumed room, the velvet draperies on the doors and windows rustling subtly in the summer breeze that blew in from the terrace. It was a hot day, in spite of the breeze, and he felt stifled in his formal attire, and unable to concentrate sincerely on the works due to his discomfort. So in knowing that he was alone, he felt no remorse at removing his cravat and overcoat, rolling up the sleeves of his white linen shirt and loosening his waistcoat with a private sigh of relief. He cast his discarded clothing items along the baseboard of the vast room, and immediately felt his interest in one of the pieces in the gallery increase as he became more at ease. 

The piece was of a forest at dusk. The colors of the fading light in the sky bled into the trees with expert artistry, making heaven and earth become infinite with one another in hues of brilliant blue and green. It almost seemed as though there was a hum coming from it; as though it was speaking to him. It was exquisite and he had half a mind to purchase it.

Dean stood in several moments of silence, further contemplating the work and finishing his glass of sherry, before he noticed another man in the room. He didn’t recognize this man, which was odd, considering he was sure he knew almost anyone who would be in attendance at such an event as this, and so he became curious. The man was standing quietly across the gallery, arms folded, in seemingly deep contemplation about an artwork in the same way that Dean had been about the infinity painting. He observed that the man was well dressed in a tan overcoat, black waistcoat and blue cravat, which Dean noticed with amusement had been loosened, and the man seemed to squirm with the same physical discomfort that Dean had experienced moments ago from the heat. 

"Make yourself comfortable," he found himself saying. "I did." He pointed to his clothes pile on the floor and nodded with a small smirk, not sure why he felt so immediately comfortable having such a conversation with a complete stranger. 

He was delighted to see the man smile softly and turn towards Dean, sauntering thoughtfully in his direction while unbuttoning his tan coat in the process.

"I am...most enthused by your commitment to appreciating the art, my Lord," the mysterious gentleman said as he arrived next to Dean.

Dean discovered upon closer observation that the tan coated stranger was quite beautiful. His dark hair was disheveled, his shoulders broad, and his eyes a shocking blue. _Like the sky_ , Dean thought. _Fuck...what?_ No. He had not just been admiring the physical stature of a strange man. He had not. He tried to scrub the observations from his mind, but he couldn't. Especially as he watched the tan overcoat join his green one on the floor, and watched this stunning creature roll up his shirtsleeves and stand next to him playfully, hands on his hips, staring thoughtfully at the infinity painting. 

"What do you think of this one?" The man asked, studying the blue green watercolor with sincerity. His voice was deep and even. _Like velvet_ , Dean thought, and he was distracted by the immediate warmth he felt in hearing it. 

"Its...alright, I guess." Dean lied. 

"It could use a little...something, couldn't it?"

"I can’t figure out quite what’s missing. I’ve been contemplating, but I haven’t put my finger on it yet.” He didn’t want the stranger to know that he intended to possibly purchase the work, should there be potential competition for it. So he tried to act as though he was relatively disinterested in it for the moment.

The man didn't react with any sort of emotion to Dean's observations, but instead went back to looking at the painting again, arms folded thoughtfully.

The moment was soon interrupted by Sam and his fair lady friend, Eileen Lehey, as they strode into the room with enthusiasm, laughing at something or other, waltzing their way over to where Dean and his mysterious stranger stood.

"Dean! I'm so happy you've met Castiel! I had hoped that perhaps he could offer you some advice on your sketches. Have you already exchanged formalities?"

Dean blushed a deep red.

"I am not an artist Sam."

"You dabble, Dean. I know you do. And your work is good. Castiel is here in town to help open several galleries, and the two of you should certainly get to know one another. Isn't that one fantastic? Castiel, I think this might be your best one." Sam smiled broadly and pointed at the infinity painting before inserting himself between Dean and Castiel and placing a well intentioned hand on each of their shoulders. The ensuing silence was humiliating.

"So...this is yours?" Dean said, his voice gravelly and full of embarrassment.

"It is."

Castiel lowered his head and gave Dean a sidelong glance to see how he would react. Dean could tell Castiel was looking at him and suddenly felt as if the room was stifling all over again, and he shifted uncomfortably.

"Its...really great. Truly," he managed, and fidgeted with his rolled up shirt sleeves, willing the flush in his face to subside. 

“It’s my favorite. It came to me in a dream”, Castiel said softly. 

"I'm going to get us all more sherry," Sam announced, sensing the tension between Dean and Castiel. He grabbed Eileen's hand and pulled her on to the terrace behind them and into the well manicured gardens, leaving Dean and Castiel to pick up the pieces of their new relationship.

"I'm Castiel," the artist said in the same deep, velvety voice, offering his hand to Dean.

"Dean Winchester," he said, shaking Castiel's hand formally and clearing his throat, trying to think of what to say to salvage the conversation.

"Sam tells me you're actually quite good with your sketches - I would love to see them sometime. I have a studio in the artists' quarter while I’m in town, if you ever feel so inclined to stop by for a drink and some good conversation - I’m always happy to give honest feedback on your work." He glanced at Dean meaningfully, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

 _Honest feedback_. Dean knew this was an offhand retort to his criticism of Castiel's painting and he wanted to disappear. And he had to try hard not to stare at Castiel. The man's eyes were captivating, and his lips even more so. Even standing next to him made Dean's heart pound loudly and he was sure it was echoing through the whole gallery, giving him away. 

"I...need to get some air," Dean heard himself say weakly, and he ducked away, leaving Castiel and their pile of discarded coats in front of the infinity painting in the gallery. 

Dean stumbled towards the terrace where Sam had disappeared moments before, leaning heavily against the archway that led down to the gardens once he was outside. He sank down to a seated position against the nearest column and leaned his head against the cool marble, closing his eyes. 

“Are you ok, brother?” Sam had returned with more sherry and handed a glass to Dean, who drank it down quickly and continued to try and slow his heart. 

“Yeah, fine. It’s just hot. I needed some air. In fact, I think I’m going to walk in the garden and see if the breeze doesn’t help.”

“Do you want us to join you?” Sam asked with brotherly sincerity. 

“No, I can manage. Thanks.” Dean stood up slowly and clapped a hand on Sam’s back as he sauntered past him and made his way slowly down the steps to the manicured lawn.

Once he was across the grass and hidden in the maze of pruned shrubbery and low hanging vines on the gallery property, Dean began to feel more himself again. The silence of the garden enveloped him and allowed him to gather his thoughts. He did wish he had another glass of sherry though. To drown himself in liquor would be most welcomed in the moment.

“Sherry?” 

Dean whirled around, shocked to hear Castiel’s voice behind him suddenly. _Fuck_ , he thought. He wanted to sink into the ground, but instead found himself accepting the glass that Castiel offered as he came up beside him. Cas had put his tan coat back on and expertly pieced his entire ensemble back together, and even thought to bring Dean his coat back as well, which he handed to him with the sherry.

“You’re a Godsend,” he said as he accepted the coat, and gave Cas a small smile.

“Your guardian angel, actually,” He responded. “It seems there are quite a large number of eligible ladies searching around for you. You’re quite the hot commodity this season, aren’t you?”

Dean stood still, quite sure that his face showed a mixture of defeat and exhaustion at the idea of being found by London’s high society debutantes at this particular moment...or ever, for that matter.

Castiel almost looked like he would laugh, but in his mysterious way, he managed to convey his amusement without doing or saying much at all.

“Don’t worry - I told them to look for you elsewhere. By the look of you when you escaped out of the gallery, I assumed you may want to be alone.”

“And yet...here you are,” Dean mumbled quietly.

“I can take my leave...I just wanted to extend an olive branch. I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot.” Castiel bowed slightly and turned to leave, which to Dean’s surprise, made him feel disappointed.

“Castiel?” He said, not at all certain what he would say next and immediately regretting his boldness.

“Yes?” He stopped and turned back around.

“Your studio - where is it?”

“The artists’ quarter. At Jack’s crossing. You couldn’t miss it - it’s the only unmarked building there. I’m having a soiree there on Friday evening if you want to come by. Just a few friends. And some art, of course.”

“Very good. Perhaps I will.” Dean nodded stiffly, hoping that Castiel would take his leave. And he did. As quickly as he had been there, he was gone, and Dean let out a sigh of relief as he drank down yet another entire glass of sherry in a single swallow. He knew he would pay for all the drinking later, but he hardly thought he could get through the rest of the day otherwise.


	2. Chapter 2

“So, how do you know Castiel again?” Dean asked. He was laying on the settee in the large tea room at Winchester House that overlooked their front lawn later in the afternoon, nursing his hangover.

“I don’t, really. He was at the gallery a few days ago when I met Eileen there to set up for the opening today. We talked briefly and when I found out he was one of the artists displaying work at the event, I mentioned that you do a bit of sketching yourself. He seemed very interested in you.”

Dean ignored the curiosity that rose up in his chest and feigned annoyance.

“And...does he even have a last name? I find it odd that we have never seen him or heard of him before this week.”

“I think he’s distantly related to Eileen’s family?” Sam guessed. “I think that’s how he knew of the gallery opening actually. Although...he never did give me a last name.” Sam’s forehead wrinkled with confusion, but Dean could tell that Sam wasn’t particularly concerned about the mystery. And in fact, Dean wasn’t really, either. 

“And how do you even know about my sketchbooks? I’ve never mentioned them to you.”

“I found some of them in the fireplace. Naturally I was curious. And Dean...you’re good. Like really good.”

“Sam. I’m the oldest son. Father and mother are gone. It is up to me to run the household and make sure that you and Claire are looked after and that the estate is maintained. I don’t have time to engage in such frivolity as drawing and make it part of a lifestyle. And you would do well to keep your observations about my skill to yourself. I don’t want all of London to know that I have a tendency for artistic hobbies. As far as everyone is concerned, I engage in trade, and finance, and hunting. Is that understood? I have a reputation to maintain.”

Dean could tell that he had hurt Sam’s feelings slightly with his directness, and immediately wished he had thought through his delivery more before saying it out loud. He intended to fix it as soon as he saw Sam’s disappointment:

“But...tell me. Which of my works did you like the most?” He was sincerely curious, and had never been given the opportunity to talk to anyone about it.

Sam brightened at this. “The angels. They’re beautiful. You’re like London’s own Michaelangelo.” He smiled, and Dean allowed himself to feel just a bit of guarded pride. He also wondered if Castiel would like them. He smiled softly as he continued to nurse his headache, relishing in the darkness from the cool, damp cloth across his eyes.

“Should I have Jodi and Claire alert the kitchen that we would like to have a late dinner tonight so you can rest a bit longer?” Sam asked thoughtfully.

“Yes - why don’t you? That would be most appreciated. Thank you, Sam.”

“My pleasure”, he said, and Dean heard him get up to leave.

“And Sam?”

“Yes?”

“The art thing. That stays between us. Understood?”

“Yes, Dean. Understood.”

Dean heard him shuffle out of the room and he shut his eyes, intent on sleeping off more of his hangover before joining his family for dinner. He hadn’t seen Jodi since she arrived back from Paris and was looking forward to hearing about her travels. Jodi, their head of household, had been like a mother to Dean, Sam and Claire since their parents had died in a hunting accident over 20 years ago, and he looked forward to wrapping her in a good long hug.


	3. Chapter 3

The week after the gallery opening passed quickly, and Dean found himself too busy to engage himself in thoughts of his mysterious stranger, or his sketches, or much of anything beyond his duties at the estate. And for the first time in as long as he could remember, he slept soundly without a single nightmare.

But when Friday came around, Dean found himself looking at his watch every 15 minutes to check the time, and he found Castiel on his mind constantly throughout the day. Whenever he thought about his piercing blue eyes, or recalled his velvety voice, the rest of the world around him fell away. He couldn’t wait to get to the studio to see him again. 

Jodi had noticed that he had been particularly distracted all day, and asked him often if he was ill. She had also been putting pressure on him to consider a marriage proposal to one particular debutante that he had shown “more interest in” than any of the others he had visited, but he continued to avoid the topic as much as possible and busied himself with mundane tasks to avoid Jodi’s pressuring remarks and observations.

Sam had been particularly delighted at Dean’s sudden interest in spending so much extra time with him in the afternoon, and even went so far as to cancel his social call with Eileen to spend time with his brother. Dean thought that it was a good test of Eileen’s character to see her deal with the last minute disappointment, and he respected the way that she handled it with grace. He even told Sam to marry her, at which Sam became silent and then argumentative.

“You should marry first, brother. You are the eldest, and it is expected of you. What would the society papers say if I were to marry before you? People would talk.”

“...and what do you suppose they would say?” Dean asked with slight sarcasm.

And to this, Sam chuckled, albeit nervously. 

“I can think of some things, Dean.”

_

As soon as the last light began to disappear from the sky that evening, Dean announced his departure to several of the house staff before alighting in his smallest carriage with childlike excitement, bound for Jack’s crossing in the artists’ quarter. 

As he pulled away from the house, he saw Sam appear on the front steps, and was sure he gave a wink and a thumbs up before disappearing behind the lamplight of the cobblestone street as it fell away into the darkness.

And when he was far enough from home for the realization of his own intent to become clear, his excitement turned to momentary panic, and Dean had to focus on his breathing to keep from having an anxiety attack. Perhaps he should have had a drink before he left home to calm his nerves. But it was too late now, and so he turned his attention to the sketchbook in his lap. He ran his hands over the leather-bound cover, allowing himself to remember that it was his mother who had given it to him when he was a child. She had caught him drawing with sticks in the dirt and had always wished to encourage her children to follow their dreams. So she purchased him the book and a set of pencils on one of her trips to Paris with Jodi. Her last, in fact, before she was never to return home again. He gripped the book affectionately at the thought of his mother. He had always had such a pure, nurturing relationship with her, and he missed her every day.

Dean was grateful that he had not used the book for his earlier “practice” sketches. He had filled several books with ideas and terribly executed human figures before he found a rhythm that he felt was worthy of this prized book from his mother, and it was now almost full with strictly Supernatural depictions. He focused most of his efforts on angels, but he also drew many of the demons that he often saw in his dreams as well. He knew that it would be frowned upon to create such deliberate depictions of evil, but the idea of angels and demons and there being a balance in good and evil in all of God’s creations fascinated him. He only wished that he had someone to share his notions with, and he hoped that Castiel might be the person who understood him. He certainly seemed to be worldly and open minded. _And gorgeous_ , he thought, and was embarrassed at his own boldness, even if it were only in his mind.

-

The studio was indeed the only unmarked building at Jack’s Crossing, and Dean soon found himself in a well lit hallway inside, bathed in the glow of what seemed like a hundred candles, surrounded by dozens of well dressed people engaged in a variety of conversations and at varying levels of drunkenness. He pushed his way through several groups as he made his way along the corridor, glancing into any room with an open door that he passed, keeping a lookout for Castiel. 

_What if he’s not here?_ Dean thought, and the idea made him feel sick as he reached the very last doorway at the end of the corridor without seeing him. It was closed, but he push it open, and he found himself in a large drawing room. Women in varying degrees of undress posed on a variety of chairs, tables, and platforms for a small group of artists that were scattered throughout the room with easels and sketchbooks. The air was perfumed and warm, the candles casting light and heat into the quiet space, and Dean became immediately self conscious, feeling as though he had happened upon some sort of secret meeting.

“Hello, Dean.”

It was the voice. Castiel’s voice. Dean couldn’t see him at first, but as his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw Castiel emerge from a shadowed corner towards the back of the room. Charcoal in hand, he looked as beautiful and disheveled as ever in a loose, white linen shirt, hair a mess, eyes like blue fire. Dean felt chills rise up all over his entire body as Castiel approached and squeezed his arm affectionately.

“I’m so happy you decided to join me. Come, let’s get you set up.” He motioned towards the place that he had just emerged from, and Dean followed him, wiping his palms on his hands nervously as the warmth from the room started to set in, amplifying his nervousness.

He watched Castiel take out a large roll of pencils, chalk and charcoal and scatter them on the table where he had been sitting, before hopping up and seating himself next to the expansive collection of drawing materials. He patted the table next to him and made eye contact with Dean, indicating that he should join him. Dean obliged, but not before taking off his overcoat and rolling up the sleeves of his own shirt.

“You’re in the habit of doing that, aren’t you?” Castiel asked.

“What?” Dean looked around, trying to figure out what he had done.

“Overdressing.” He looked at Dean’s coat and nodded, pointing. “You don’t have to be fancy around here. What you’re wearing now is even still...perhaps…” Castiel jumped down from the table again and sauntered over, getting extremely close to Dean, and started to unbutton his waistcoat. For a moment, Dean let him, but when Castiel looked up and made eye contact with him at such close proximity, he drew away. _He smells like...spring rain and rosemary_ , Dean thought, and he felt heated then, his pants tightening involuntarily. He walked around Castiel as he flushed, undoing the remaining buttons himself, trying to immerse himself in shadow as he sat on the table, placing his sketchbook purposefully in his lap.

“Can I see it?” Castiel asked, motioning at Dean’s lap.

“What?” Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise as he followed Castiel’s gaze.

“Your drawings - can I see your book?”

“Oh - yes, of course.” He said, flushing again. He tried to seem relaxed as he handed over the book as Castiel, once again, positioned himself on the table next to Dean, and started thumbing through the pages slowly.

Dean watched his face, trying to get a read on what Castiel was thinking, but continued to be amazed at the way that Castiel’s expression rarely gave anything away. He was so...melancholy? Sad? Reserved? Dean wasn’t sure, but it was one of the things that he found so alluring. He had never been so drawn to anyone before; especially not another man. But he was powerless to stop it. Castiel made him feel safe. Euphoric, too, and excited. And with all the burdens of life, Dean knew he wanted this studio and this man to be his escape. Whether it was a friendship, or...something else. He knew he wanted some sort of relationship with him. It was the “something else” that he wasn’t sure about. It made him squirm in discomfort, but also with desire…

“Dean, these are beautiful. How long have you been practicing with this topic? I’ve...never seen anything like this.”

“Since I was quite young, actually. But I’ve never shared them with anyone. Except Sam, but that’s because he can’t keep his nose in his own business.” Dean smiled an affectionate half smile when he thought about Sam and the fact that he owed him credit for this moment.

“Do you want constructive criticism?” Castiel asked.

Dean could tell that Castiel was very serious in his question - he was not making fun of him. 

“Absolutely. Please”, Dean said. He had been leaning back against the wall behind him, but immediately leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees in childlike anticipation, hands folded in front of him, looking sideways at Castiel.

“Your female forms are very good. You can practice more tonight on my live models if you like. But...your male form is...maybe in need of just a bit of fine tuning.”

Dean didn’t know what to say - it was true that he was more in tune to womens’ anatomy. Naturally, he had not been given the opportunity to study the male form up close. 

“Let’s start with what we have”, Castiel said quickly, realizing the topic was uncomfortable for Dean. “And then we can go from there.” Dean liked to think he saw Castiel flush red for a moment, but it could have just been the heat in the room and the glow from the soft lighting that surrounded them.

“Do you...have any sherry…?” Dean inquired. He did not want to sound impolite, but he always found that he sketched better when he had indulged himself in a few glasses of sherry or wine.

“Oh. Forgive me.” Castiel shifted off the table once again. “How rude of me.” Dean watched him walk swiftly past the models and the other artists in the room and disappear out the door. 

Dean had almost forgotten for a second that there were other people present. He had focused all of his attention on his conversation with Castiel and it had felt as though they were alone in the universe while they were together. He closed his eyes and allowed his head to rest back on the wall again, breathing in the perfume and warmth of the room. He drew a knee up and rested his hand there, swimming in thoughts of this night and how much he was already at peace here - he felt so at home, and nothing else mattered.

“Again, my apologies.” Castiel re-entered the room swiftly, carrying two glasses and a bottle of sherry with him, which he promptly poured and handed one of the glasses to Dean, who drank deeply before deciding to commit to a new sketch. Castiel was right; he hadn’t ever drawn anything from life, and he was curious as to whether it would make a difference in the way his images looked. His preferred drawing tool was pencil, but he liked the way the charcoal felt in his hand when he picked it up. _What the Hell_ , he thought, and decided to try something new.


	4. Chapter 4

After several glasses of sherry and three discarded sketchbook pages, Dean decided to switch back to pencil. He felt that the only positive thing he had achieved in the last hour was making Castiel smile. After he had groaned with displeasure for a second time and thrown a second paper ball on the floor, Castiel had smirked softly as he continued to work on his own sketches. And after the third paper ball flew across the room, Dean raked his hands through his short blonde hair in defeat and looked to refill his glass again.

“Do you want to try something different?” Castiel asked, looking up briefly from his work.

“I think I just want to go back to pencil.” Dean said resignedly.

“No...I mean...besides drinking sherry?” Castiel produced a small cigar-like item from his shirt pocket as well as a match.

“What is it?”

“Just a little something I picked up closer to home.” He moved to pull a gauze curtain down around them, enveloping their corner of the room in privacy as the curtain fell, causing Dean’s heart to flutter with anticipation and curiosity. He hadn’t realized when he joined Castiel on the table earlier that this particular area could easily be converted into a private space for tutoring by means of the convenient curtain.

“Where is home, by the way?” Dean asked, squinting his eyes in slight suspicion and making eye contact with Castiel.

“It’s...North. As far north as you can go.” Castiel said, and proceeded to light the mysterious cigar and breathe it in deeply, a halo of smoke surrounding his disheveled hair for a brief second, making him look very much like an angel. Dean tried to preserve the image in his mind for later. Castiel was a walking piece of art. Everything he did was perfect. 

“So...Newcastle, then?” Dean inquired.

“Mhmm, sure” Castiel responded in a very noncommittal tone. He looked at Dean and handed him the mysterious cigar. Dean took it. 

He felt a coolness in his lungs when he breathed in the smoke, followed by a very pleasurable feeling of calm. He was almost immediately euphoric, as though he might float off of the table. His entire body hummed with a pleasant vibration. And he inhaled again, even more deeply the second time, and felt as though he had been knocked off of Earth entirely. 

“Holy Fuck. What…?”

Dean rolled his head up and attempted to focus on Castiel so he could pass back the magic cigar, but he could barely move his arms. For a moment he panicked, but Castiel reached over to steady him and took the cigar back.

“It’s ok. Just give it another minute, Dean. The initial shock passes quickly. But if you don’t like it, you don’t have to take any more. I’ve got more sherry.” 

Dean could swear that Castiel winked at him, but he couldn’t be sure. All he could do was stare into his blue eyes. It was suddenly torturing him to look at Castiel, and he didn’t know what to do with himself except get closer to the floor so he could lay on it; his head was spinning. 

When Castiel realized that Dean was about to purposefully slide off of the table, he jumped down to catch him. But Dean was heavier than he had thought he would be, and they fell together into a heap, Castiel on top of him rather than cushioning his fall, but luckily it wasn’t far down enough to cause either of them injury.

Dean found this to be immediately funny. He started laughing as he attempted to sit up, grabbing Castiel around the waist and, as gently as he could in his ungraceful state, disentangling himself and adjusting them both into a cockeyed, seated position. 

The next problem he faced now was that the momentary high had started to make him feel warm everywhere. It was spreading to every inch of him, and he could feel his pants tightening again. His pulse quickened at the sensation, and he found himself face to face with Castiel for a second time. There seemed to be an electricity that hovered in the air between them for a moment, and Dean couldn’t stand another second of not knowing what it would feel like to kiss him. 

He leaned in unapologetically and without hesitation to give Castiel a quick, chaste kiss. His heart pounded loudly in his chest as he pulled away, slightly panicked now, and he studied Castiel’s face anxiously. And to his delight, Castiel cupped Dean’s face in both of his hands and pulled him in again, kissing him deeply. Castiel groaned softly when Dean parted his lips with his tongue, exploring the inside of Castiel’s velvety soft mouth with urgency and tangling his hands in his dark, unruly hair, trying to maintain control of himself and not go crazy with the need he felt to know every inch of this perfect man. 

Their hands became more animated as they explored each other, lightly and shyly at first, and then with an escalated urgency that matched their kiss. Castiel slipped his hands inside of Dean’s shirt, fingers gliding over his smooth chest and back up to his face, where Dean angled his head back to give him full access to his neck, and Castiel sucked bruises into his soft skin and worked Dean’s shirt over his head. 

What Castiel was doing to him made Dean’s breathing shallow, and he slid his hands shakily up Castiel’s muscular back, caressing his broad shoulders, and moved his fingers softly up and down Castiel’s spine, causing goosebumps to form everywhere he touched . Then he pulled him in, until they were in a full and passionate embrace on their knees, memorizing each other, and indulging in the waves of pleasure that their closeness provided. And finally Dean grew bold enough to pull Castiel's hips into him roughly, feeling excitement at how hard they both were as they connected. The sensation caused Castiel to weaken and he collapsed heavily into Dean, and they toppled to the ground again. 

Castiel recovered quickly and adjusted himself on top of Dean, aligning their bodies, and Dean groaned eagerly as he rolled his body up against Castiel’s in an uncontrolled, clumsy rhythm, causing pleasurable, maddening friction between them. 

“Cas - off. Take this off.” The nickname rolled off of his tongue so naturally. He liked it. And he tugged at Castiel’s shirt, pulling it over his head and covering his chest with rough kisses as he breathed him in, his fingers roving down to Cas’s hips, where he faltered briefly. 

“Dean...please.” Castiel laced his fingers through Dean’s and guided his hands down between his legs. “I...want you.” He looked almost desperate, and Dean felt momentary helplessness. He had never done anything like this before. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do next. 

_I can do this_ , he told himself. _I need this_. He grasped Castiel’s waist and rolled over so that he was on top of him, staring down into Castiel’s blue eyes; they were cloudy with lust, and it pushed Dean close to the edge to know that he was causing this kind of pleasure in a man like Castiel. Someone who seemed so controlled and sure, falling apart underneath him, begging for his touch.

Castiel pushed up against Dean forcefully when he hesitated, and he groaned longingly as Dean pulled Castiel's pants down just enough to free his arousal, and stroked him softly. The effects of the drugs were heightening all of his emotions, and the euphoria was almost paralyzing in its intensity. He could tell that Castiel was experiencing similar waves of cosmic pleasure, and he wanted to make it last as long as he could. 

He trailed slow kisses down Castiel’s torso and settled his head between his legs, taking Castiel into his mouth, sucking just enough to make him utter a gorgeous, indescribable sound that made it hard for Dean not to come. Castiel was holding on to the leg of the table closest to him now, head thrown back...and Dean continued to tease him, bringing him to the brink of release over and over again and taking it away, relishing in the control that he had in the moment. 

"Dean...please. Please." 

Dean swirled his tongue along the entire length of him one more time, guiding Castiel’s hips up and down in a steady rhythm until Castiel cried out, breath hitching, calling Dean’s name, his back arched high off the floor, fingers digging deep in to Dean’s shoulders, and Dean welcomed the thick, sweet cum that slid down his throat as Castiel climaxed. It was the most intimate thing he had ever experienced, and Dean came in tandem with Cas; he hadn’t meant to, but every inch of him was on fire and he lost control when Cas moaned his name for the final time. It was all so delicious. He wanted to do it again.

Dean looked up at Castiel’s face then because he thought he heard him say something that wasn’t in English. It startled him, and he received an even greater shock when he saw that Castiel’s eyes were shining a bright, cosmic blue as he came down from the intensity of his orgasm. 

“Cas? Are you ok? What…?” In the moment his satisfaction was replaced with concern. He crawled up to sit beside Castiel's head, cradling him in his lap and brushing his hair back from his face, unable to take his gaze away from _those eyes_. It was inhuman...angelic...was it real? Or was it the drugs...

“Dean. Watch out. Watch out!” In one motion, Castiel pulled his pants back on as he sat up, and shielded Dean with his body from a cloud of violent black smoke that seemed to appear suddenly out of the wall. Flames licked at them from out of the smoke, and Dean ducked in to Castiel, closing his eyes tight. He was sure that this was hallucination from the magic cigar, but it seemed so real. He had never seen...or heard...anything like this. A guttural scream seemed to come from the depths of the smoke, and the room smelled like Dean imagined Hell might smell. And when he ventured to open his eyes for a moment, one of the demons from his drawings was hulking over them. Smoky, rancid saliva dripped from its mouth right into Castiel’s... _wings? What the fuck_ , Dean thought. He was never going to touch any sort of drug like this again. He closed his eyes again and focused on trying to sober himself up enough to stop the hallucinations. 

“Dean. Stay. Don’t move.” Castiel crouched over him, breathing hard , sweating from the heat of the smoke demon, and Dean felt a gentle caress of feathers on his back. He ventured a quick look over his shoulder to see large, black wings shielding him from the fire that erupted from the demon creature’s mouth; they were Castiel’s wings. And Castiel was whispering frantically in an ancient language as he continued to protect Dean, absorbing every blow and fireball that the monster dealt to him. 

Finally, Castiel raised one of his hands towards the monster, expelling a blinding flash of light, while simultaneously placing his other hand on Dean’s arm, and Dean immediately experienced a blinding, burning pain where Castiel had placed his hand. When he looked up again to survey the scene through hazy, tortured eyes, the demon seemed to be gone. But then everything went dark.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean woke up in darkness to the sound of his own scream. He sat bolt upright, feeling around, trying to figure out where he was. He saw several candles being hastily lit in the dark, and it immediately roused the image of the smoke demon from his hallucination. He breathed hard, tears escaping from the corners of his eyes. The candlelight came closer and he could make out Sam and Jodi standing over him in his own chambers at Winchester house. 

“What? Where am I? Castiel! Where’s Cas?!” 

Jodi grabbed his hand and Sam set down his candle and knelt quickly near Dean’s head, steadying him and putting both of his strong hands on Dean’s shoulders.

“Dean. It’s ok. It’s ok. You’re home. You’re safe now.” Sam’s familiar voice calmed him, but his heart continued to race and his eyes darted around the room, trying in vain to locate Castiel.

“Where’s Castiel?” He asked again, panic in his voice.

“We don’t know.” Sam whispered. “He wasn’t at the house when we found you.”

“What do you mean? What happened?”

“There was a fire, Dean. You're lucky to be alive.” Jodi said softly, and she squeezed his hand. She looked tired; her big brown eyes were red rimmed, and her slight frame looked hunched in the shadow of the candlelight.

Dean felt as though he were being suffocated. His mind was screaming and his heart felt as though it would shatter. And he was suddenly aware that his torso and one of his arms were heavily dressed in bandages and that he was in immense physical pain as well. 

“You...were burned quite badly, Dean. We have been thanking the Lord every day and night that you got out of there somehow; it’s a miracle.” 

“How long have I been here?” Dean asked fearfully.

“Three days.” Jodi said. Her voice trembled slightly. She was worried.

The room fell into silence for a moment while Sam and Jodi let Dean take in all of the information that they had just given him.

“I’m going to make you some tea. It’s nearly dawn. Just about time to start the morning rounds anyway. Claire has a big day.” Jodi patted his hand and turned to go, leaving Sam and Dean alone in the room.

Dean guessed that Sam was waiting until Jodi was well out of ear shot before he dared to speak again. 

“Dean. What happened when you were with Castiel?” Sam whispered, looking concerned but also curious.

“What? Why?” He asked, wondering what this was about. His body had started throbbing with pain as he became more alert and focused on his present situation.

“I need to show you something.” Sam set his jaw and wrinkled his brow in concentration as he gently reached for Dean’s right arm and started to unwrap the bandage. Dean sat completely still, not wanting to make a wrong move that might cause any more pain as he watched the dressings fall away. And as Sam pulled away the last of the clean bandages, Dean stared at his arm in disbelief. 

“Is that...Castiel’s?” Sam guessed.

Dean tried to focus on the hand print that was burned on to his upper arm, and reached over to trace around it with his fingers. It was definitely Castiel’s hand. He had to focus hard to stop himself from going back to that night without rousing the image of the smoke demon and of those raven black wings. He tried to make sense of it, but everything had happened so fast and he was trying to convince himself that most of what had happened at the end was a hallucination and nothing more. But he really wasn’t sure; it had felt real, and the hand print was proof that at least part of his memory was correct. That moment when Castiel had branded him with a hand print sat at the forefront of his mind, making him unsure of everything.

“It’s his,” Dean whispered. 

“This...also came for you this morning.” Sam said, glancing back at the door again to make sure that they remained alone. 

He produced a package from behind Dean’s headboard wrapped in brown paper that simply said _“Dean”_ in scrawling handwriting. _Written in charcoal_ , Dean thought, and his heart started racing as he carefully tore the paper back.

Dean breathed in sharply as the paper fell away, revealing Castiel’s infinity painting. And without any ability left to hide his emotion, Dean put a hand to his forehead and wept silently, trying to make sense of it all. What did all of this mean? He was confused and in extreme physical and emotional pain as he sat with Sam in silence, starting back and forth between the handprint on his arm and the painting in front him.

“Do you want to talk about this?” Sam asked gently. He could sense that Dean was struggling to make sense of what was happening, just as he was, and he had a deep desire to comfort and reassure his older brother. He had never seen Dean break before, and it was startling. He only wished he knew what he could do or say to ease his pain.

“I have to know if he’s ok, Sammy. He saved me.”

“You know it was him that pulled you out?” Sam asked.

“Yes.” It’s all Dean could manage in response. He wasn’t going to tell Sam about the angels and demons or anything else that happened. It would sound as if he were going mad.

Suddenly something caught Sam’s eye on the back of the canvas in Dean’s hand, and he pulled an envelope from the frame. 

“Maybe this? Maybe Castiel has an explanation for all of this,” Sam said hopefully. He watched Dean open the envelope carefully, as if at any moment it might turn to ash in his hands.

_Hello Dean,  
When you find this note, you will know that I am gone. I cannot stay here. What happened the other night is complicated. Know that I will return. It could be days. It could be years. I am uncertain. But know that you are safe.  
Yours,  
Cas_

It was cryptic, and it made Dean feel as though part of his soul had been damaged. Years? It could be years? Panic and pain gripped him again and he clutched the note to his chest, willing it to produce more answers, or at the very least, some relief. But it didn’t.

“What does it say?” Sam asked, and took the note from Dean as it was handed to him. He read it quickly, and Dean saw the confusion on his face immediately.

“Does this all mean something to you?” Sam inquired, trying not to pry too deeply into whatever business Dean had gotten himself mixed up in.

“Not really. But...I can’t wait years for him to come back, Sam. I have to find him. He’s from Newcastle - I could start by journeying there.”

“Dean, you can’t go anywhere. You have to rest and give yourself time to heal. You’re in really bad shape.”

Dean knew Sam was right, but nothing much seemed important beyond his search for Castiel. _For Cas_ , he thought. _He signed his name “Cas”_. The realization ripped him apart.

“I will stay for a few days, but I’m not making any promises after that. Can you wrap my arm back up? Who else has seen this?” Dean motioned to the handprint on his arm.

“Just me. I found you, and I covered it. We don’t need any of this showing up in the Society Papers. If we’re going to get you well and find you a wife, we need your slate to be clean. I don’t know what you have gotten yourself into Dean, but I want to help you. Let me help you fix it? Please?”

Sam was re-wrapping Dean’s arm expertly, and Dean had never appreciated Sam’s loyalty more in his entire life. He knew there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for Sam; his tall, sensitive younger brother. And he knew that Sam would also do anything for him. It made him wonder if Sam might take an interest in the title and the lands and the responsibility of carrying on the Winchester family name on Dean’s behalf. He decided to consider it for a day or two before bringing it up; could he ask Sam to do that? Would he want to? Dean only knew that from this day forward, he would no longer be able to carry out his responsibility to the Winchester name in the way that was expected of him without bringing them to ruin. And there was nothing in the world that would make him feel more like a failure than destroying the reputation of his successful and prestigious family lineage for selfish reasons. 

He had a lot of decisions to make suddenly.

_

Two more days passed where Dean could not leave his chambers. He requested only Sam to change the dressings in order to maintain his secret, although it looked as though the scars from his burns may end up being permanent, and many of them weren’t healing as quickly as Sam would have liked. He was growing frustrated. 

It’s almost like...you were burned from the inside”, Sam observed. “And as if you’re...still burning. It looks like the damage is spreading instead of getting better.” 

Sam grew distraught and raked his hands through his long brown hair whenever he had to change the bandages, trying to figure out a way to fix it. But he hadn’t come up with any solutions yet and often set himself to pacing around Dean’s room, sharing his inner monologue and talking to nobody in particular. 

Meanwhile, Dean continued to occupy his mind with the idea of Sam inheriting the Winchester estate. He would return often, of course, to check in and make sure that things were as they should be to provide Jodi, Sam, Eileen, Claire and Claire's future husband a comfortable and relatively drama free life. He also didn't think he could ever permanently say goodbye to any of them; he was lucky to have such a strong family unit to hold the threads of their lives together so tightly. He could never give any of this up entirely, but he was also trapped by the pull of his heart, which belonged to Castiel. And their relationship would never be accepted in London’s high society. He had a lot of thinking to do. Could he make everything work in his favor? He felt pangs of doubt and it hurt him almost as much as his physical wounds to think of having to choose one life or the other.

-

 _Where are you, Cas?_ Dean thought, standing in the breezeway at the front of the main house later that afternoon, staring vacantly towards the stables where his best horse was kept. He knew in a couple of days he would depart, regardless of his physical state, and he made the decision that today would be the right time to talk to Sam about their future.

As if he could read Dean's mind, Sam drew up beside him, looking as if he was preparing for a day in the gardens with Eileen again. 

"Do you and Eileen think you're fooling anyone with the amount of time the two of you spend in "the gardens", Dean chided.

"Do I care, brother?" Sam quipped, clapping Dean on the back. "You look as though you have something on your mind - do you fancy a chat before I depart? My garden agenda is...open ended today. I may not be back until after dusk."

"If you will oblige me. I do actually have a pressing matter I would like to discuss. It could also affect Eileen in fact, and so perhaps this is as good a time as any to address what's on my mind."

"Should I have one of the kitchen staff bring tea?" Sam asked.

"Sherry", Dean responded. 

Sam nodded. "Meet you in the tea room in ten minutes?"

"Yes, my Lord." Dean bowed dramatically to Sam. They found it humorous to talk to each other from time to time as they talked to other members of high society at the exhausting balls and social events that plagued their schedules. The idea that he could avoid the courting and the parties and the endless string of women who wished to win his favor forever cheered him, and he turned to make his way to the tea room, finally feeling as though he were making the right decision for himself and for his family.

-

"So what's this pressing business you want to discuss?" Sam asked, pouring them each a generous glass of sherry in the tea room.

"Sam, I want you to inherit Winchester Estate. All of it. I want to give my title and my inheritance...all of it...to you."

Sam was silent, his mouth hanging open incredulously.

"Dean, I - I couldn't possibly live up to what you've done for this family. I'm not...I'm not as gifted as you are. I wouldn't know what to do…"

"I can teach you, Sam. I wouldn't ask you if you wanted this if I didn't think you could handle it."

"Dean...I'm speechless. Honored, truly...but why would you pass this on to me?"

"Because...I won't ever produce an heir, Sam. I can't ever be married in a traditional sense. I know that now." He blushed and stared at the floor, silently waiting for a reaction from Sam.

Realization spread over Sam's face as the weight of Dean's words settled in his mind.

"Castiel." He whispered.

Dean nodded, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. There was a heaviness in the air for a moment and he sought to squash it as quickly as it had come.

"What do you think? Would you do this for me, Sam?"

"Anything for you, Dean. I think me and Eileen can produce a dozen heirs." He chuckled as he thought of it. "And we have Jodi. Jodi will always help keep the family together." Sam nodded, reassuring himself silently, before grabbing Dean's good arm and squeezing it meaningfully.

"Find Cas, Dean. But...please come home. I still need you. We all do."

"You got it, kid." He raised his glass for a toast. 

"To the Winchesters. To family." Sam met his glass halfway and they sealed their agreement with a long drink of sherry.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wish you were here right beside me  
> So I could watch you sleep  
> Hold your body closer, breathe you deep  
> And everything feels broken when you're not next to me  
> Would you still be you if we weren't we?
> 
> - _Under Your Scars_ , Godsmack

A week after the fire and the demon smoke monster, Dean mounted his best horse, Baby. He knew she could get him to Newcastle and back with as many stops along the way as were necessary in his attempt at finding Cas. 

Jodi and Claire were absent for his departure, but Sam and Eileen stood by to see him off. 

"Safe travels, brother. Write to us if you can? We want to know that you're journeying safely. May God be with you." Sam patted Baby's flank as Dean rode off, hoping with everything that he had that Dean would return safely and in one piece. 

He had heard screaming from Dean's chambers each and every night since the fire, and had heard him yelling about angels and demons. And Sam continued to swear that he could smell burning flesh when he changed Dean's bandages each morning and evening, as though he were burning from the inside. Dean’s bright green eyes had also adopted a dullness and he rarely ate. Sam was worried about how much he had started drinking as well, and hoped that whatever quest Dean was going on now would bring him back healed both emotionally and physically. Sam needed him. He was already feeling the pressure as the new head of household and in fact was planning on proposing to Eileen that afternoon so that they could plan a wedding and set to the important task of producing an heir for the Winchester line. He was most looking forward to that, and he was excited about their wedding night. They had barely been able to wait, but Eileen was still chaste. He could not wait to remedy that, and he knew she felt the same. She made it harder and harder for him to say no, and he was hoping for a quick wedding so they could finally be free to consummate their love.

-

The night was pitch dark. Dean had ridden long and hard for the second night in a row, and it was too late to stop and make a fire. He knew he would have to reach the next town, which according to his maps, was only five miles away. He swayed on top of Baby, exhausted and half drunk, trying to shake off the physical pain that his burns were causing him. 

_Only 5 miles more_ , he thought, and fought off the sleep that threatened to consume him. A fall off of his horse would be unbearably painful, and he was unsure whether he would be able to get back up if he fell. He proceeded to remove his riding coat, tying it around himself and fastening it to the front of his English saddle by two loose straps used to secure supplies, and then winding the reins tightly around his hands. _I can make it. 5 miles more…_

The innkeeper in the small town where Dean was headed knew immediately that something was amiss when a well bred black horse trotted past the door, her rider hanging half off the saddle, looking as though he might be dead. The innkeeper identified the rider immediately as the elder Winchester brother by the family crest emblazoned on the saddle and the finery he was dressed in. He went to work immediately to untangle Dean from his restraints, and quickly realized that Dean was badly injured. 

"Donna! Come quick!”

“What is it?” Donna arrived at the front door to the Inn, drying her hands on an apron. 

“Dean Winchester. He’s in a bad way. Prepare our best room, and call the doctor.”

Donna disappeared back inside and the innkeeper continued to work on getting Dean free from his saddle and organizing his stableboy to take his horse. He wondered what had brought such a prestigious man here in this condition, and made note to write to Winchester house immediately to alert them of Dean’s situation.

-

Dean drifted in and out of consciousness, finding himself enveloped in nightmares where the smoke demon visited him and burned him from the inside out. His level of physical pain was beyond excruciating. And when he was awake, he heard very little beyond vague whisperings from his bedside about his worsened condition. _I’m dying_ , he thought, _and it doesn’t matter._

He had not been able to locate Cas, and would never make it all the way to Newcastle now. And so his will to live dwindled, until he was ready to accept death, should it wish to take him. He tried to occupy his few conscious thoughts with images of Cas, attempting to soothe his mind with memories of their kisses and of his smile and... _that voice._ He heard it - he swore he heard it for real. 

Dean opened his eyes and found himself alert. And upon focusing on the room, he indeed saw Castiel standing at the door, wearing his tan overcoat, hair disheveled, talking softly with Donna. Castiel glanced over to Dean’s bed then, and strode quickly across the room to kneel beside him.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice cracked weakly. His physical pain immediately started to overwhelm him as he struggled to sit up. He was unable to tear his gaze away from Castiel’s blue eyes. He thought he sensed fear in them, but he couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t even sure that Cas was real now. It could be just another fever dream. Or maybe he was dead. 

“I’m here, Dean. I’m going to fix this now.” He squeezed Dean’s hand and turned around to give Donna a small nod, letting her know that she was free to take her leave.

“He prayed to you, Castiel. Many times. It seemed to be the only thing keeping him alive in the end.” Donna stood in the doorway for a moment longer before shutting the door softly behind her.

Dean had closed his eyes again, aware that Cas had placed one hand on his chest and one on his forehead, and he heard him start to speak in his strange language. And as he spoke, Dean felt a strong charge travel through his body, as if he had been struck by lightning. He cried out in shock, grabbing Cas’s forearms with his hands, holding on to him, unsure whether to fight back or succumb. 

He forced his eyes open again, and Cas’s eyes glowed a brilliant blue above him, just as Dean had seen at the art studio a lifetime ago. Then Cas started to speak faster, and another surprising jolt traveled through Dean’s body again, although less painfully this time. Nevertheless, Dean felt his strength returning and he started trying to push Cas away from him. But he realized then how much strength Cas possessed. A struggle was useless, and so he settled back, letting tears fall from the corners of his tired eyes, breathing heavily. 

“One more time, Dean. It will be over soon.” Cas looked drawn; the pain it caused him to do this without explanation was torture to him, but there was no other way. Dean was dying; Castiel almost hadn't made it. And the thought caused a small sob to escape from his lips as he pulled Dean in close, absorbing as much of the final shock as he could with his body. He felt Dean shaking violently as he held him afterwards, but took comfort in knowing that soon the pain would reside entirely and he would be healed. And when Dean finally stilled, Castiel set his head gently back on the sweat soaked pillow, leaning over him anxiously and pushing his hair back from his face.

“Cas. What - “

“I fixed you,” Cas murmured. “Everything will be ok now. The demon is gone.”

“What the fuck is going on, Cas? What are you? What is this?” Dean started to feel defensive as his strength returned.

Castiel studied Dean for a moment, and Dean felt as though his gaze was burning into his soul. He wanted to know everything. He needed to know.

“I’m an angel. I was sent to London to help close a tear in the veil between Earth and Hell.”

“We? You and...other angels?”

“Battle angels. There are a dozen of us or so positioned in London at the moment.”

“Battle angels.” It was a statement, not a question. Dean couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Or how to handle it. It was all too unreal. Angels? Hanging out in London to fight demons? It sounded like something from his drawings.

“Wait...Cas, my drawings...of my dreams and my nightmares…?”

“Those weren’t dreams, Dean. Or nightmares. You were affected by the tear in the veil from the moment it happened decades ago. You have had angels and demons inhabiting your mind.”

“But...why me? Why wasn’t anyone else affected?”

“You’re a Nephilim, Dean.”

“A what?”

“A Nephilim. It means you’re half angel. Your father...was an angel.”

“My father was John Winchester.” Dean said this stubbornly. He couldn’t believe what he was being told.

“No, your father was an archangel. You are not a Winchester. Sam is, but your mother was pregnant with you when your parents got married. It’s...extremely rare, and it’s illegal for an angel to produce a child with a human being. Your father protected you as long as he could from the other archangels who were intent on destroying you as a baby. One of the battles that he fought to protect you caused the tear in the veil in London. He was also killed that day, along with your mother. They sacrificed themselves so that you could live."

“So...what protected me after they were gone? After the tear?” Dean still couldn’t believe he was hearing all of this. It stung to know that his parents had died for him. But he would have time to pursue the details of that, he was sure. In the moment, there was so much more to learn. 

"Your father had been preparing you to fight while you were sleeping; he trained you in your mind, which is where angels and demons find weakness to penetrate and destroy other celestial beings and also humans. And so to you, they were just nightmares; your father taught you to fight well. But that’s why you draw the way you do. Those things...are all real. Very real. In fact, many of your drawings are of your father. They are memories."

“What was his name?” Dean was whispering now, his mouth dry. 

“Raguel. He was...good. I fought beside him for thousands of years, and many of us mourned his death deeply. Although we were never told how he died.”

“And why are you helping me, Castiel?”

“I...wasn’t supposed to, Dean. I was supposed to try and kill you, too, once we had mended the veil. But after I saw you the first time, I began to question my mission.”

“Why?”

“Because after I saw you, I started to dream. And angels don’t dream, Dean. But I did. I dreamt what you saw in that painting at the gallery. I saw blue and green, running together, creating harmony between heaven and earth. It was so beautiful.”

“So...you were observing me before we met at the gallery?”

“Indeed. For many months.”

“So you staged the meeting at the gallery?”

“I did.”

“How did you know I would be drawn to your painting?”

“I didn’t.”

There was a thickness in the air then, and Castiel got up off of the bed and wandered across the room to the fire, staring into the flames, the soft light illuminating the beauty and the sadness in his face.

“When you were drawn to it so quickly, I saw significance in that. It occurred to me that our paths crossing might contain much more meaning than I had initially guessed.” Castiel got quiet and Dean saw him clasp his hands together, almost nervously.

“And…?”

“You’re my soulmate, Dean. I have existed for thousands of years, and until you...I had never dreamt. I had never felt love. I was made to serve God, and I always did that faithfully, without question. And then there was you. Why was I willing in a matter of moments to go against everything that I had been taught for you? It is a flaw in God’s plan. Angels are not supposed to be able to disobey. But every so often, when a soul recognizes another as a piece of itself, it cancels out everything else. Every other instinct is erased. We live only for that other soul.”

Dean looked down at the blanket on his bed, not knowing what to say. He had no idea how to convey the intense feeling that came over him with Castiel’s words. He knew exactly what they meant; he felt the same way. It explained his irrational need to find Cas, regardless of what it would cost him.

“I want to check something.” Castiel said. He looked at Dean from across the room for a moment, before returning to his bedside and sitting next to him, facing him. “Give me your hand.”

Dean obeyed, and he could feel a small pulse move through his palm when Cas entwined their fingers together, and the pulse omitted a small, blue green light.

“What is it?” Dean asked.

“Our souls”, Cas said quietly, staring at the fiery light as it hovered between them, casting a twilight ambience across their faces. “It is as I thought.”

“It...looks like the painting.” Dean said thoughtfully.

“It is. I think we are meant to do something significant, Dean; together. My defiance has opened up possibilities for change between our worlds. You and I...we can do anything.”

“And...are there other angels who are going to try and kill me now, since you couldn’t?”

“They can’t. It’s one of the things that I had to do when I went away. I had to get them to see. And they were forgiving. You are safe from them. They are just as curious as I am to see what this anomaly means.”

“What were the other things?” Dean asked.

Cas looked at him, unsure what he meant.

“What were the other reasons you left?” 

Dean was sure that Cas blushed this time. “I had been protecting you from the demons that invaded your dreams after I met you at the gallery. It made them angry, and they were always trying to find a weakness in my shield so that they could attack you again.”

It was Dean’s turn to blush now. “The smoke demon...found a moment of weakness at the studio when we were together, didn’t it?”

“Yes. And it cursed you in anger. I think you knew, in a way, that you were burning from the inside? You were hours away from death tonight, Dean. I had to find the counter curse to reverse the damage that had been done and I was so close to failure. I didn’t know that the curse would spread so quickly - from the lore that I read, it should have taken years for it to consume you entirely. I’m not sure why it worked so fast. I thought you were safe.”

“I think I know why”, Dean said, ashamed.

“Why?”

“I didn’t want to live without you. I actually didn’t think I could. I wasn’t healing because maybe I didn’t want to.”

“I’m sorry, Dean. I’m sorry that I left you. I didn’t know that it would affect you so deeply.” There were tears in Cas’s eyes, and he pulled his hand away from Dean’s, causing the blue green light to dissipate. He got up abruptly and raked his hands regretfully through his hair, turning his back to Dean and moving to stand near the fire again, staring into it silently.

Dean was feeling more and more himself at every moment, and he climbed out of his bed, moving to stand behind Cas to comfort him, wrapping his arms around him and planting soft kisses on Cas's neck.

“You’re here now.”

“I burn for you, Dean. I can’t live without you. I love you.”

Cas turned around then, crushing himself against Dean, kissing him deeply. And Dean reciprocated by pulling at Cas's clothes hungrily, tearing through the fabric of his tan overcoat with newfound strength, which he knew came from the grace pulsing through his veins from when Cas had healed him. And he felt a new strength of his very own stirring deep inside, too. He imagined it as a small green flame, and suddenly felt as though he had always known it was there, waiting to be woken up. 

"You can feel it, can’t you?” Cas breathed as he pulled away for a moment. “Your grace?” He was taking off his boots then, and moved to unbutton Dean's shirt slowly...thoughtfully.

Dean nodded. He felt it grow stronger still when Cas’s hand touched his chest, and the green flame in his mind ignited and consumed him from within. He felt...invincible. And Cas smiled at him. For the first time, he got to see joy from his angel. _My angel_ , he thought, and he knew he couldn’t survive another second without him.

Dean pulled Cas to the floor, pinning his arms above his head, kissing him roughly. He started with his mouth, and worked his way down Cas’s now familiar body, just as beautiful as he remembered, tearing away the rest of the fabric that still remained between them. But he was surprised when Cas stopped him suddenly, pulling him back up so they were face to face.

“Not this time,” He whispered, and steadied Dean on top of him, relishing in the feeling of their bodies touching so intimately, and rocking upwards to cause friction between them.

"Cas, I'm too close. Not yet." Dean steadied Cas underneath him so that he could catch his breath.

"Already?" Cas raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"You do that to me. Please - go slow." Dean swallowed thickly, trying to get ahold of himself.

And then Cas was pushing them up in to a seated position and guiding Dean up on to his knees. Dean looked down and realized for the first time that all of his scars were gone. He was as good as new. Except for the hand print on his arm; he could still feel the familiar shape of Cas’s hand there. 

Cas saw Dean looking at the handprint. “I can’t heal that one. It’s...a protective mark. I put it on you to keep you safe from any more demons while I was gone. It can’t be removed.” Cas looked up apologetically for a moment, his hands brushing lightly along Dean's hips as he sat on the floor, drinking in the beauty of his Nephilim. 

“I...kind of like it”, Dean breathed. 

Their brief exchange had allowed Cas the time to trail his lips along Dean's hips before settling between his legs, teasing him, sucking gently on his arousal and caressing him with light fingers and torturous flicks of his tongue until Dean was panting with desire.

"Is this what you want? To take it slow?" He purred huskily, looking up to see Dean's head thrown back, his body shaking, his legs trembling as though they would give out at any second. Seeing him like this made it hard for Cas to keep it together himself, and he knew he wasn't going to last much longer, listening to the gorgeous moans escaping Dean's lips as he continued to torture him.

"Cas." It's all Dean could manage - he was wrecked. He didn't know it was possible to feel this way. He wanted to find release so badly, but he didn't ever want it to stop, either. His breath hitched as Cas paused, drifting back up to kiss him gently, pulling Dean's hips against him and running his fingers over the rough stubble on Dean's face...memorizing him. Then he smoothly slipped his fingers in Dean's warm, velvety mouth while fixing him with a meaningful stare.

Butterflies erupted in Dean’s stomach as he considered what it meant. And he realized in the moment how much he wanted it. He sucked urgently on Cas’s fingers, gliding his own hands down to wrap them around his angel's gorgeous erection, stroking him the way he liked it, and causing Cas’s eyes to glaze over with lust. Dean could tell that Cas was losing control quickly, and it made him crazy. He wanted Cas’s mouth back down between his legs, but he also wanted to feel Cas inside him. He wanted to know what it was like, and the thought of it made him moan longingly as Cas found his way inside of Dean, one finger at a time, working him open, both of them heady with anticipation until Dean was ready for what came next. And between soft, hot kisses, Cas lay back and pulled Dean down to straddle his erection, angling Dean's hips so that he could slip inside of him. He went slowly at first, letting Dean set the pace to ensure that he was comfortable, reading him carefully, guiding their hips in a gently rhythm until Dean's movements became more excited and more demanding. And that's when Cas thrust deep, finding Dean's sweet spot. The ecstasy of the feeling made Dean cry out. Suddenly he was arching up and leaning back, rocking against Cas's impressive hardness, wanting to feel every inch of his angel inside of him as he chased his release, ready for it this time. 

“God Cas. I need you. Please...do it again.”

There was no stopping the intense orgasm that gripped Dean’s entire body as Cas filled him up again, thrusting deep, listening to Dean moan his name deliciously. And Cas stroked him as he came, almost coming apart himself at the sight of Dean riding him, his hands gripping Cas's thighs behind him as though they were his lifeline, every muscle taught and quivering.

And then Cas couldn't hold back any longer. His body burned with need as he came hard, his breathing shallow, his entire body convulsing as he grabbed Dean's hips again and guided him back and forth rapidly, and pushing up in to him again with involuntary roughness as he exploded. 

Dean leaned forward as he felt Cas let go inside of him, intent on assaulting Cas's swollen lips with kisses, but as their eyes met, glowing green and blue, the intensity of their cosmic connection heightened and prolonged their climax until it was almost unbearable. They gripped each other tight, barely breathing, riding it out until Dean finally broke eye contact, plunging his tongue into Cas's mouth while he rocked his hips into him over and over, getting as close to his angel as he could, not ever wanting to let go.

And when they were both spent, lying silently together next to the fire, Cas cleaned up the evidence of their love making on his stomach with his shirt and trailed a finger around the handprint on Dean’s arm again. And Dean noticed a small blue green light escaping from Cas’s fingers when they connected with his skin, causing a pleasant vibration wherever he touched.

“Since I’m a...nephilim?” Dean asked, does that mean I can travel between heaven and earth? And how do I activate that green fire...the grace...on my own?” He realized he was tired and his question sounded far away.

“I have a lot to teach you, Dean. But can we start tomorrow?” Cas buried his head in Dean’s neck, pulling him in and stroking his hair.

“You’re staying with me tonight, aren’t you, Cas?”

“Always.”

“I love you, Castiel...” Dean slipped into a heavy sleep. And somehow as he slipped away, he knew the demons that had battled with him in his mind for the last thirty years were gone for good. He could finally be at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> I watched Bridgerton between Christmas and New Years, and found myself disappointed in the development of the relationship between Benedict Bridgerton and his Libertine companion, Henry Granville. I was exasperated to watch their relationship drown quickly as the writers seemingly abandoned its development for racier heterosexual couplings. The whole thing left me feeling defeated and unsatisfied.
> 
> But for a moment I stupidly held a glimmer of hope in the first few episodes that the fabulous scene at Henry's sassy libertine studio party might lead to a blossoming love between him and the second oldest Bridgerton. And as it crashed and burned, it re-opened the partially mended wounds in my soul caused by the love confession of one trench coated angel from Supernatural; here we were again, unfulfilled by an LGBTQ+ plotline with so much potential. I kept putting Castiel and Dean there in that libertine party scene, wanting to write them in as unapologetically in love, regardless of what being gay could mean for Dean's future in Regency England as the oldest son of an elite family. I wanted to see him accepting himself as he was and watch him embrace his sexuality and explore it, and get lost in it...be willing to risk everything for it. So I wrote it. 
> 
> I started with the general concepts that I saw in Bridgerton and strayed off the beaten path with elements of the Supernatural as the story unfolded...I made it up as I went, and found that I loved merging these two extremely different worlds together. I hope you enjoy it!!


End file.
